


Alive on the Edge of my Conscious

by Storylandqueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:50:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storylandqueen/pseuds/Storylandqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'll hold on and keep fighting as long as his memories keep flickering inside his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive on the Edge of my Conscious

Not all of the memories were bad.

Between the fights and the flames, the gunfire and the black goo, sometimes Dean forgot why it hurt so much not to have Castiel near. Because it did hurt, it was painful to have all those moments together crammed into the back of his head, screaming for attention. It was so easy to let regret sweep him away into a whirlpool of misery until he lost sight of why he even cared.

He had nightmares a lot, but he was used to that, it happened more often than not ever since he was brought back from Hell. Cas used to protect him from those dreams and at times Dean thought he could still feel the brush of cool fingers against his forehead, keeping him safe from his own mind.

Sometimes Dean felt like his guilt would eat him alive, and sometimes Dean thought he’d prefer to stare down the barrel of a gun rather than the back of his eyelids.

But... that was only sometimes.

Sometimes Dean would dream, and then he would remember why everything was worth it.

Usually the dreams were things that actually occurred, small moments of quiet content that didn’t seem possible with his life but happened anyway. Dean treasured those peacefully happy fragments of time dearly, and they were such tiny things, only pieces of events that happened, but they meant so much when you piled them all together. 

Cas’ smile when he surprised Dean in a good way was always a favorite, that slight upturn of lips and light of confidence shining in blue eyes, that was how Dean liked to picture Cas. There was a voicemail on his phone from when Cas called him to ask about some cultural reference and Dean kept it because he liked the sound of Cas’ voice when he was confused by the workings of human society, so lost, but trying so hard to figure everything out.

Those memories were usually backed up tightly with all the rest, pushed away to prevent the pain that came with dwelling on things, but there was a difference in remembering the past and reliving it in a dream. It was nice, soothing in a way that Dean had forgotten dreams could be, and it was so good to hear Cas do something as simple as laugh.

Sometimes Dean would wake up from his dreams with a start and he would realize that all the things he’s been so grateful for in his sleep were gone, turned the dust with the past. But sometimes Dean would wake slowly without reality crashing in, instead slowly creeping, allowing the residual images to float through his barely aware mind. 

He would be alone in a small hotel bed, but he would feel warm and safe, if only for a little while, and he would be content. Until the world forced him to get up and face what his life had become, Dean would turn his face into the pillow, remember, and smile.


End file.
